Regaining Her Name
by gallicinvasion
Summary: A young Numenorean woman in Fornost feels trapped in a dangerous marriage, with few allies by her side. She attempts to regain her freedom and identity, and in the act, she finds love as a young Ranger becomes determined to liberate her.
1. Signed Away

Night's darkness had come rapidly. It was early—before the time most families took their evening meals—yet the sun had sunken quickly and, it appeared to Linwen, despondently, into the far western mountains. The moon had been peering out overhead for hours, and now it was clearly outlined by the blackness in the eastern sky. Perhaps the day had ended early because the hot summer was finally winding to a close, but to Linwen, the night's quick approach seemed tense and meaningful.

Her hand shook as she gripped the quill and dipped it into the ink bottle. She was aware that her form was being watched, not only by Bregor, her husband-to-be, but by his surrounding family. She felt no love or acceptance in their gazes, only an anxious sort of eagerness. Their faces seemed frozen in expressions of mock-happiness, illuminated by the light from the candles they grasped. That candlelight also fell on the parchment that awaited her signature. Linwen expelled a ragged breath she hadn't known she was holding.

Bregor, oldest son of Brigend, had already scrawled his name on the adjacent line. His lines were thick and jagged, at one point piercing through the heavy paper. As he had replaced his quill, his eyes had grazed Linwen's form beneath the dress she had taken months to sew for the occasion. Bregor then ran his hand through his bristly hair and tried to meet Linwen's gaze. She had seen this out of the corner of her eye, and her heart had pounded quickly.

Linwen now leaned down, dark hair blocking the candlelight from her face, and placed quill point to paper. Her mind, unbidden, had envisioned this moment many times since her uncle had made the unfortunate marital agreement with Brigend, a member of Fornost's landowning elite. Brigend, though exceedingly wealthy, had for sometime been considered an outsider in Fornost, a town known for its families of rich Numenorean bloodlines. Now that his oldest son was marrying into one such family, Brigend's social standing would be considerably improved. Linwen gained, supposedly, by ensuring her financial well-being; her uncle gained family connections which could soon turn to business connections. She stole a quick glance at her uncle's face. As expected, he sported a self-satisfied smirk as he waited for Linwen to sign away her legal personhood. No doubt he was mentally cataloging the best ways to take advantage of Brigend's considerable financial means.

Linwen's expression grew sour as she imagined her uncle obtaining power at the expense of her freedom. Fleetingly, she wondered if she could gain any influence with the family she was now entering. Perhaps she could convince them of her uncle's absolute incompetence in economical pursuits. She thought wryly of his failed fertilizer distribution business, the tavern that had shut down in just four months, and the doomed investment in his own son's general store. If she could ruin her uncle's stake in her union with Bregor, she supposed it might lessen her pain in having to submit to it.

Linwen had paused for too long. She saw Bregor's mother flit her eyes to her husband's, and his large face became stony as he stared pointedly at the parchment. Linwen wrote her name quickly, the faint lines of ink rapidly absorbing into the paper. When she finished, she felt her stomach drop as if she had missed a stair in the dead of night. She had had no choice. Had she?


	2. The Precipice

_If you roll your eyes any further, Linwen, they shall get stuck that way._ Her mother's frequent joke kept knocking around in Linwen's head. Her mother would certainly have reminded her about that possibility tonight, as Linwen did not think she had ever rolled her eyes so much in her life.

She shifted with annoyance on her chair. The Inn, unimaginatively named so by Brigend when he had established it a decade ago, was the host to her and Bregor's wedding dinner, and from her vantage point at the head table—on Bregor's left side—she had a commanding view of the institution's loud, grimy, and smoke-filled main room. She was also audience to some of Bregor's most inane, brutish, and lewd comments, which he bandied about with his companions. Thankfully, he had paid her little personal attention, other than noticing her emptied plate and telling her not to eat so much. This caused him to embark on an anecdote, saying, "My father married a beautiful woman. Her name is Thalias, and I hear tell that on her wedding day, she was as slender as a doe and twice as graceful. Now look at the fat moose he's got next to him!" He gestured to his mother's plump frame at the other end of the table.

Linwen silently apologized for any unkind thoughts she had sent Thalias earlier. It was probably a good thing that the woman had some extra bulk on her body, having had to push out the unfortunately large and bulbous-headed baby that Bregor must have been. Linwen saw her own exasperation reflected in Thalias' face as she glanced down the table, and thought _That is surely an expression exclusive to women who tire of the men around them._ Had her mother said that too?

Bregor took the hearty laughter of his drunken companions as a sign to continue his verbal command of the room. "I suppose this moment is as good as any for a few well-chosen words on this joyous occasion!" Linwen wanted desperately to hide her face or look down, but she supposed it would seem rude. She dreaded any reference to her that Bregor could possibly make, since he knew barely anything about her apart from her family connections. She was sure his words would be embarrassing, and she was not disappointed.

"I should like to thank my good father for his generosity this night! It is long since my friends and I have been so well fed and watered!" Inebriated cheers erupted around the room. It was clear that it was not _water_ in their steins.

"Many thanks also to Esgal, uncle of my good wife here," Bregor patted the back of her chair, startling her into looking up, "for planting idea of this match in the head of my father, Brigend. Without them, we would have no reason to be drinking tonight! Not that that would stop us from drinking anyway! True, men?" As his friends yelled in the affirmative, Bregor tipped his stein towards Linwen's uncle, who gave a small, awkward wave in reply. Linwen felt a stab of hatred toward Esgal, and she hoped he somehow knew it.

By this point, their party had become so loud as to attract the attention of all the bar's patrons. Linwen could see that most of them had paused their own conversations and had turned their heads in Bregor's direction, unable to hear their companions over his racket. It was unfortunate, then, that Bregor chose this moment to remark, "And thanks, of course, goes to my new companion, Linwen. She is truly the picture of a perfect wife tonight." He paused to toast his glass to her with a smirk, "This is because she has not opened her mouth once!"

The male voices erupted in laughter, but Linwen balled her fists in anger. She wanted to retort something angrily, _about Bregor never shutting up the entire night, perhaps,_ but she was sure that she would only be further ridiculed.

"She will tonight, though!" Bregor added to his previous comment, speaking in a mock whisper that was clearly audible to the entire main room. That was enough to set his friends howling, and cause Linwen finally to hide her face in her hands. She had never been more mortified in her life. Her mind reeled in unpleasant directions concerning the coming night. She quickly repressed the thoughts, as she had been doing for months. She felt as though Bregor held the upper hand tonight; she saw no way to challenge his improper remark, and neither her aunt nor her uncle was willing to risk the advantageous match to do so. Was marriage supposed to feel like a war?


	3. Distraction

To steady herself, Linwen took a deep drink of ale and cast her eye around the room, eager to fix upon some source of distraction. Luckily, there were ample. The end of summer had brought Rangers in from the Wild who had used up their scant rations and needed to resupply their stocks of provisions before winter's cold truly set in. The Inn at Fornost provided a welcome respite from their travels: warm beds and cold ale. Many of the Dunedain had relatives within the town's limits as well, and welcomed the chance to see them—though few of the men were married. Their responsibilities took them far and wide, and it was difficult to establish a permanent residence. It was a lonely life with few chances of reward or recognition

Linwen was no man-chaser—in her experience, most males were violent, dim-witted, and emotionally stunted—but she could appreciate the rare fine specimen when it presented itself. She supposed the pursuit was no longer an activity she could embrace, but the perusal was certainly an option still. There were a few such specimens tonight: one broad-shouldered man, short and unassuming, was sipping his drink contemplatively on his barstool. Linwen wondered what he was thinking about so contentedly. Another Ranger, dark-haired and with a strong jaw, caught her gaze for a moment and his eyebrows furrowed concernedly. He had kind eyes.

 _Doubtless, any man would appear kind this night, when compared to the buffoon next to me,_ Linwen thought. Bregor's comments still intruded on her thoughts. Tonight, distractions would not suffice. She felt a growing need to distance herself from said buffoon, and excused herself from the table, citing the need to freshen up. Bregor was deep in his stein of ale and either did not hear or did not care.

Sticking to the wall to avoid wading out into the throng of bodies, she made her way to the hallway at the back of the main room. This hallway curved around to the right, lined with doors that led to various rented rooms, and ended in a heavy oak door with a large bolt locking it from the inside. Linwen lifted the bolt, swung open the door, and felt a cooling breeze meet her face, which had felt warm from the ale and the heat of the main room's fireplace.

The Inn's side door opened onto a cobblestone path to the stables, as well as a small grassy area separated from the main road by a split-rail fence. The raucous sounds of the Inn receded as Linwen headed towards the edge of the grass. A hard lump stuck in her throat. She rested her elbows on the sturdy fence and her forehead on her open hands, gulping in a few uneven breaths. Her face felt hot.

The thoughts she was dreading to acknowledge threatened to take over her mind. The thoughts did not appear as coherent ideas; they manifested as nerve-wracking images and uncertain impressions. Thick fingers grabbing her thighs. His hot breath on her neck. His hands forcing her head downwards.

Linwen squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shake herself free of the impressions. A few tears stuck in her lashes. Did all young wives feel this way? Why was she so terrified of an activity people had been practicing since the creation of men?

Indeed, she had practiced it herself. At 19, she had spent a summer fancying herself in love with a young farmer's son, and they had been intimate more than once. She had found it exciting at the time, as is the case with most new experiences. Looking back, however, she viewed the activity as lackluster. If Linwen was honest with herself, she'd had far more success giving herself pleasure than the young man had had with her.

In any case, with the farmer's son, there had been anticipation. With Bregor, there was only fear.


	4. Expecting

Linwen lifted her head to take a breath of clear air, letting the breeze dry her face. To her surprise, she saw a familiar figure walking purposefully towards the Inn. From the woman's gait and her dark red hair, Linwen recognized her friend, Aniel. Linwen wiped her eyes quickly, took a few steadying breaths, and tried to calm herself. She loved her friend dearly and did not wish Aniel to witness her sadness, though doubtless she knew how Linwen was faring at the moment.

Linwen stepped up to the lowest rung of the split-rail fence. "Ani! _Mae g'ovannen, na vedui!*_ " she called, as soon as Aniel was within earshot. Her voice felt rough from disuse, and she realized she had not spoken since before the marriage ceremony that evening. Linwen hoped she was not already fulfilling Bregor's wishes for a mute wife.

" _Gi suilon, Linwen! Man càrat?**_ " Aniel returned the greeting, her deep voice warm with concern. Linwen half-walked, half-ran through the stables to the road. As soon as the young women reached each other, Aniel wrapped Linwen in a tight hug, rocking her back and forth slightly.

Linwen felt the lump return to her throat, and tears suddenly welled up in her eyes. She always felt like crying when anyone close to her showed the least bit of concern. Linwen swallowed back a sob quickly as Aniel broke the hug. She did not wish to worry her friend.

"I came outside for a bit of fresh air," Linwen said in reply to her friend's query. "It was getting…" Linwen considered her words, "stifling." She gestured vaguely back towards the building behind her.

The two young women sat down on low stools under the shelter of the stable roof, their knees almost touching. Aniel began "I am sorry I was not with you tonight. I wish-"

"I did not want you to see me there," Linwen cut in, her face reddening. " I cannot even explain why; I just-"

"You do not have to. I only wished I could have been there for you. I am here for you now, in any case." Her friend smiled, squeezing Linwen's hands tightly. _Do not cry,_ Linwen thought to herself firmly. Some detached part of her consciousness found the thought amusing.

Aniel then reached behind her for her bag and lifted it to her lap, rifling through its contents. Linwen looked around surreptitiously, noticing a few men from the Inn who had come to retrieve saddle-bags from their horses. None of them looked like they were from her wedding party. So Bregor had not yet noticed her absence.

Aniel's hands emerged from her bag, clutching a small pouch that was drawn closed with a thin leather string. The woman placed the pouch in Linwen's hands. "What is this?" Opening the pouch and shaking some of the contents into her palm, Linwen saw that it was thin strands of a dried root, prickly and brittle to the touch.

"This is _thondluin_ , blue-root. If you need to, you can brew a tea with it. In the morning." Aniel threw a glance at the men at the far end of the stable before lowering her voice. "It will prevent you from carrying any children. And if you run out, I can get you more." Aniel held her gaze for a moment. She seemed to be uncertain of her friend's reaction.

Linwen's eyes welled over again. " _Oh le hannon, le hannon Ani,***_ " she breathed. She was so thankful for her friend's perceptiveness. There was nothing more terrifying to Linwen than the possibility of pregnancy, especially with a man she found so abhorrent. She had an irrational fear-or was it completely rational?-that such an event would further lock her down to her present situation. She had not even formulated a way to escape it as it stood, but she felt that conceiving a child would be the definitive death knell to her freedom.

 _Sindarin phrases from the chapter:_

 _*"Well met, at last!"_

 _**"Hello, Linwen! What are you doing?_

 _***"Oh, thank you, thank you Ani"_


	5. Odd

After bidding her friend farewell, and after a bone-crushing hug, Linwen turned resignedly to re-enter the Inn. Her fingers tightly clutched the pouch containing the precious root. Her first instinct was to conceal it. She was inexperienced in matters of matrimony and childbearing, but she felt certain that Bregor was one of those men who would seek to have a son at the earliest possible opportunity-if not as a matter of fatherly love, then as a matter of satisfying his male ego. She did not know Bregor well, but something in his manner made her wary of him. His loudness, his boasting, and his sense of entitlement indicated to her that his ire might be easily roused. She did not want to be on the receiving end of his anger or potential violence. She slipped the _thondluin_ into a small pocket she had sewn into the skirt of her dress-pockets were not a standard feature of women's clothing as far as she knew, but she had long ago sought to right the injustice of unequal pocket distribution between the sexes by adding them to her wardrobe wherever possible.

Linwen began to head to the back door of the Inn, still occupied with making sure the pouch was not visible, when a shadow fell across the ground in front of her. She took one step backwards involuntarily and looked up, somewhat startled, to see the dark-haired Ranger she had observed inside the main room. "Yes?" she questioned, and she was unhappy to hear her voice break slightly. _What is wrong with me?_ she thought. She was not regulating her reactions as well as she normally could. The wedding clearly had her on edge.

"I am sorry for the interruption," he said in a low voice. "My name is Strider." The man cast a glance at his surroundings quickly, as if anxious not to be overheard.

"What is it that you need? Directions?" Linwen asked, desirous of appearing like a normal and well-adjusted person, and feeling that she was still missing the mark somehow.

"No, thank you," he said kindly, shaking his head. Linwen just then realized the idiocy in asking a Ranger if he needed directions. Strider continued quickly, "but I could not help overhearing you and your friend." His grey eyes caught hers with an apologetic expression, his brow raised slightly. "You were speaking of _thondluin_ ; do you mean to take it?"

Linwen felt her face flush involuntarily. There might be other uses for the root, but she could not help thinking that this man probably knew what she needed it for. Her next words came quickly: "Why would you need to know that? Forgive me, but I do not know you at all." Linwen hoped the irritation she felt was evident in her tone.

"You are right; it does not concern me," he conceded softly, "but I felt I should warn you." Linwen prepared to defend herself, vehemently if necessary; who was he to lecture her? But the man continued without pausing, perhaps sensing her ire. "Blue-root has some unpleasant effects when ingested. Nausea, headaches…You should brew some _galasring_ along with it."

Linwen paused and furrowed her brows in momentary uncertainty. She knew of the plant; it had a sharp, peppery smell when bruised, and she had a vague memory of her mother using the small green leaves in her tea when she felt ill. But Linwen was mostly taken aback at the man's seemingly benign gesture when she had prepared for a challenge.

When she failed to reply, Strider continued hesitatingly, "I-have some with me, if you would like to-"

"No, no, there is no need," Linwen said hurriedly, shaking her head and raising her hands into a "stop"-gesture. "But I appreciate the advice. Strider, was it?" He bowed slightly. "Well, thank you, Strider," she said in an "I'm-going-now"-tone. Standing in dark inn-yards and talking to men she didn't know was not an activity with which Linwen often felt comfortable.

She extended her hand. Strider shook it briefly, catching her gaze with his eyes for a moment, and said simply, "Farewell." After a beat, he added, "and, congratulations." She was struck by the appearance of thoughtful concern in his expression as he uttered the word, as well as the sense of his warm hands enclosing hers. Before she could register these impressions properly, he had turned away and had begun striding towards the road.

Linwen looked down at her hand, flustered. _Apparently, even a simple conversation now is enough to unhinge me,_ she thought self-deprecatingly as her heartbeat returned to its normal speed. Her final reflection upon turning towards the inn's back door was simple: _Men are odd._


End file.
